A male guffaw came from the bar, her hands started to shake, her vision blurred. She pulled a sheet from the pad in front of her and scrawled a few sentences. She signed her name and then phoned the manager, explaining he would need to come to reception, she was leaving in the next few minutes.

“How long will you be?” He sounded irritated.

“A while.”

The doorman tipped his hat at her. He came from Jamaica a long time ago; she would miss his stories. She put out her hand and he took it, smiling warmly. He’s seen staff come and go over the years, he could probably tell that she wouldn’t be back.

The rain stopped on the drive home, the puddles shone in the streetlights. A sense of exhilaration began to grow. There was a job opening in the co-op around the corner from the flats, the notice had been in the window for weeks; it would take just minutes to get to work, there would be far more time in the evenings. She would be able to talk to the kids, find out about their day, eat supper with her family, all those ordinary things that she never gets to do. They could go to the park on weekends. She accelerated through the junction. There’d be more time with Martin. She’d be paid less but perhaps he could find some tutoring to make up the shortfall, he’s talked about that before. He’s been writing well recently, whistling in the shower, shaving with care, and ironing his shirts. It’s as if something had been unlocked. They could take the day off tomorrow, go somewhere, walk hand in hand as they used to. He can tell her about his writing, she’ll share hers. They’ll talk about books; they haven’t done that for years, not properly. She parked the car in the parking lot and called him, her heart beating fast with excitement.

And that’s when it all changed. Grace unfolds her legs; her tea has gone cold. She walks into the kitchen and makes another cup. She’d been so happy just before she made that call. She pours boiling water onto the same teabag, stirs in the milk, adds sugar as a pick-me-up, and takes the cup back to the sofa. When Martin answered her excitement had quickly evaporated, which was ridiculous really; she hadn’t given him a chance to hear her out.

“Can’t hear you, Gracie,” he had told her when he picked up; the rain had started again and she watched the drops colliding as they ran down the car windshield. “Speak up!”

She could hear Charley shouting in the background, Ash crying, and the throaty sound of a woman’s laugh close to his phone. Eve’s laugh.

“Where are you?” she asked.

“At Eve’s. She’s started Wednesday sessions now, she only told us yesterday. Sorry, I forgot to pass that on, but—”

“Martin, I left my job.” The statement had emerged as a flat little line of words one after another, not at all as she’d imagined.